


hung upon your wall

by NerdsbianHokie



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: (i mean it's revealed at the end but before then), Gen, Small bit of angst, let me know how you do in the comments below, let's play 'guess which danvers sister this pov is', not actually sure how to describe this one without spoiling it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23439769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdsbianHokie/pseuds/NerdsbianHokie
Summary: You turn and start your way up the shore. There are two miles between you and your target.The meditation comes easily as you walk, the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt, the safety of the dark. It all sinks into you, settles your nerves, your excitement. You are as calm as can be when you reach the target house.Smaller than the first one, but still quite nice. Two floors, a round section on one corner akin to a tower. You tuck under the stairs that connect the lawn and the sand and you wait.
Comments: 15
Kudos: 44





	hung upon your wall

**Author's Note:**

> This is the clock upon the wall  
> This is the story of us all  
> This is the first sound of a newborn child,  
> Before he starts to crawl
> 
> This is the war that's never won  
> This is a soldier and his gun  
> This is the mother waiting by the phone,  
> Praying for her son
> 
> Pictures of you, pictures of me  
> Hung upon your wall for the world to see  
> Pictures of you, pictures of me  
> Remind us all of what we used to be  
> -Pictures of You, The Last Goodnight

You take a deep breath. Another.

You run the plan through your head once more. It's simple, an easy mission.

But it's also so much more than that.

It's just you on the raft.

No handler.

No bodycam.

Just you, the raft, and the dark ocean around you.

And the stars.

You look up from the GPS you have been using to maintain position to take in the expanse above.

Names stream though your head

stars

galaxies

constellations

You only let yourself look for so long before pulling your attention back to the task at hand.

The light on the beach is dimming. You pull the binoculars up and can vaguely make out people extinguishing the bonfire.

You give it an hour after the flames are extinguished, then tuck the GPS and binoculars into your sack. You make sure it's securely clipped to your field suit before sliding off of the raft.

The water is cold, even to you. It sinks through your muscles, spiking right to your bones.

But you keep moving.

You have to keep moving.

The shore grows closer and closer, lights on back porches keeping you heading in the right direction.

Then, finally, it's right there, just on the other side of the sluggish waves.

You float in the water for a few minutes, watching the beach for any movement. Once sure you are alone, you let the waves pull you forward, deposit you on the sand.

The house in front of you is large, square. A separate building sitting just behind it, smaller. A guest house, perhaps.

It is a nice house, but not the one you are here for.

You turn and start your way up the shore. There are two miles between you and your target.

The meditation comes easily as you walk, the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt, the safety of the dark. It all sinks into you, settles your nerves, your excitement. You are as calm as can be when you reach the target house.

Smaller than the first one, but still quite nice. Two floors, a round section on one corner akin to a tower. You tuck under the stairs that connect the lawn and the sand and you wait.

The first few hours, you doze. Not fully asleep, but not quite awake either. It is a state somewhere in between that you have perfected over the last few years.

It is light that pulls you fully to consciousness.

Not daylight yet, but no longer night.

You open your eyes with ease, take a deep breath as you take in the sight of the ocean for a moment

two

then begin to prepare.

You set the GPS in the sand, screen visible as you go through the motions of cleaning your knives.

They don’t need to be cleaned. You cleaned them in preparation before you had even gotten on the raft and they had been stored in a watertight container.

But the methodic motions keep your head steady.

It gets brighter and brighter then the clock on the GPS screen flips to eleven and it is time.

Getting into the house is easy enough, the side door of the attached garage left unlocked.

You vaguely register the motorcycle, the surfboards, the stacks of plastic tubs in the corner, then you're through and in the house.

The house is meticulously clean, everything perfectly in place.

Except.

You trail your gloved fingers over a slightly mismatched square on the wall. There are a few of them, each accompanied by a small hole.

Removed pictures, perhaps.

There are no pictures anywhere.

The realization sits heavy in your stomach but you push past it.

You pass the kitchen, ignore the first door down the hallway, and open the next to find the office.

There is a hesitation in your step you cannot explain as you pass through the door, a small bubble of thrilled excitement wells in your chest.

You run your fingers along the edge of the desk as you walk around it, sit in the desk chair.

It feels too small.

You open the drawers of the desk, quickly flipping through files and folders and loose sheets of paper. What you're looking for isn't there so you turn to the stack on top of the desk.

Nothing.

You run a hand over your clipped hair and let out a deep breath.

The computer then.

You go through the papers again as you wait for it to boot up.

Your finger brushes against something hard in the back of the bottom drawer.

A picture frame.

The scientist whose house you are in.

Her daughter.

A man.

Your stomach drops.

Another girl.

You don't

you

you don't know her, so why is your heart racing?

You set the picture face down.

You need to focus on your mission.

Except.

There's a USB drive taped to the back, _CLhS-84_ written on it with sharpie.

The data.

Your mission.

You take the drive, leave the office, try to forget about the picture. You get as far as the stairs and your feet stop.

There are more spots on the walls up the stairs that once held pictures. You imagine the girl looking out from both sides.

You go up the stairs.

You don't understand why. You have found the data, have finished your mission, you don't need to go further in the house.

But you do.

You ignore one door

another

another

until you reach what should be the room with the round corner you had seen outside.

It is locked.

You should leave.

You kick the door open.

A bedroom.

Bed in one corner, padded bench under the curved window, posters on the walls, uncharged glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.

You step inside.

Dust hangs heavy in the air and sits thick on the furniture.

You don't understand.

Your lungs are heavy.

Your throat is tight.

You don't understand why your body is reacting this way.

It's just a room.

You pull the curtains open, look down at the yard and ocean.

You turn

freeze

the girl.

You step forward, fingertips brushing against the surface of the mirror.

The base doesn't have mirrors. At least, not where you are allowed. You don't remember ever seeing your own face. You've never felt the need to see your own face.

But

You have the same face as the girl in the picture.

You look around the room.

There are more pictures in here than the rest of the house.

The mom. The daughter. The man.

The girl.

The girl with your face.

All looking out at you.

A car is pulling into the driveway, doors opening and closing. You angle yourself to look through the window.

The scientist.

And the daughter.

They shouldn't be home.

They should be at work and at school and not arguing as they walked to the front door.

Something about a fight at school.

You don’t really care. You quickly evaluate the situation and make a decision.

Hide and wait.

You slip into the closet, sink back between the hanging clothes. You close your eyes and breath

deep

slow

to settle your body, slip into a meditation.

You breathe in.

You don’t breathe out.

You are nearly undetectable like this. Countless tests and scans have proved it, so it is no trouble for you to wait them out.

Only a few minutes pass before a gasp comes from the bedroom door.

You open your eyes, watch through the slats as the scientist enters the room.

She freezes, hand clutching the door.

The daughter soon follows, steps further into the room.

“I don’t hear anything.” She pulls her glasses off, looks around the room in a methodical scan.

She falters when she looks at the closet.

“There’s something…” Her words are muttered under her breath, confusion deep in them.

She steps to the closet.

You wait.

You need the right moment.

She turns the knob.

You breathe out.

The door cracks open.

You burst into movement, slamming the door back into her, skating around the scientist, sprinting out of the room so fast you bash into the wall and leave a dent behind.

But it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t even slow you.

Nothing slows you.

Not even the name that lingers in the back of your head as you make your way to the meeting point with your handler.

A shocked voice, a gasped word from the frozen scientist.

_“Alex?”_

**Author's Note:**

> all of my wips watching as other people update their stuff but I, stuck working cause i'm an 'essential worker', decide to work on something new -_-


End file.
